The Snows of Port Charles

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.

A dying Luke Spencer reflects on the significant women in his life.

I recognize this scene. It's from a movie made from an amalgamation of stories by my favorite author, Hemingway. The leading man-I won't call him a hero-lies dying and remembers the women in his life. He's led a life of self-centered adventure but as he lies dying he sees the light before he sees the Light. Or some such damn thing.

I'm like that leading character, except I'm nowhere near as good looking as Gregory Peck. I am dying, though.

I'm familiar with the signs of death. After a couple of heart attacks the signs are hard to miss. My vision blurred, I broke out in cold sweats, and felt like a herd of elephants was stampeding inside my chest on their way to the last watering hole in the Serengeti. It's worse than the other times, though, so this time is the charm for the grim reaper.

I'm content, or as close as I can come to contentment about one thing: I've made my peace with my amazing kids. We have had some rough periods, and I would have wanted to spend more time with them. That's my greatest regret, but we don't have any unfinished business between us.

I can't say the same about the women in my life, and believe me there have been a lot of women. When you grow up in a whorehouse it's inevitable. When other boys my age were playing sports or getting into typical adolescent trouble, I was enjoying the favors of the girls in the whorehouse. Some took me for their own pleasure, a treat after some of the johns; others to curry favor with my aunt, who was the madam; some showing compassion for a kid with a brutal past. These women formed some of my long-lasting impressions about sex. It's fun, it's a release, or simply raw need in the moment. Love had nothing to do with it.

Love had nothing to do with it until I met Laura. I first knew of her when my sister asked me to help sabotage Laura, who was a romantic rival. She got to me from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was beautiful and classy, and was seemingly untouched despite some pretty rough times. Unlike me, who carried plenty of scars. She represented hope to me that you could claw your way out of your past. I was hooked, and had to have her.

I got her, eventually. We were hooked on each other. I put her on a pedestal and she needed to be there. Then I lost her-or rather she was taken from me-though we managed to find our way back. We had some great times for a long time, on a wild ride that suited my need for adventure, feeding my restlessness until it was her turn and we settled back in Port Charles. It was good there, for a while, until the Cassadine earthquake arrived. The foundation Laura and I shared turned out to be rocky, cracking under lies, hard truths, and some of my fundamental character flaws. Laura fell from the pedestal and landed on my feet of clay, and the dream was broken.

We almost fixed it, putting aside illusions and trying to reunite as the people we were, rather than the image and the dream. Laura broke down under the weight of mental illness, and I lost her again every time I saw her. Having Laura saved my life, losing her nearly destroyed it. I barely made it back, and will never be fully repaired. Laura is better now, living in Paris, but I couldn't survive having her and losing her again. I didn't try after that.

I was a much younger man when I lost Laura the first time. I was young enough that with time, friends, a future of sorts, being able to recognize a beautiful day, that I wanted to live again, and experience new things. City boy Luke Spencer decided to go fishing for the first time at a rustic lake campground, to the hilarity of his friends. I saw a vision there, skinny dipping in the lake.

The vision was Holly. She seemed to finish the resuscitation I started, rousing something in my soul, as well as some other body parts. We were lust in the dust- actually it was a sleeping bag-before we even exchanged names. She was a mystery I relished solving, and I did. We loved each other, and though it wasn't the same as Laura, I wanted a future with her despite some shady dealings on her part. Then I was in an accident, missing and presumed dead. My best friend stepped in to support Holly, and they fell in love. The love went beyond what she and I had, and she chose him. Laura returned to my life then, and we four managed to become and stay friends for years.

No one fully understands what happens in a marriage except the two people involved. Not even the occasional third parties. I had to part from Laura, trying to divert attention from some enemies, and I met Holly in Singapore. She was alone too, Robert being away on one of his frequent assignments and leaving her behind. She tried to help me and we both feared for our lives. Impending death fuels intense desire to reaffirm life. We turned that intense desire into raw need, and met that need. My heart was with Laura, but my body certainly strayed.

Holly and I cared about each other, and always will, but it was no longer love. We parted again without regret. I remain grateful to Holly for helping jump start my life. There was always a spark between us, ready to ignite. I remember her now for what she did for me years ago, and how that spark ignited, and how we became bound forever, as her dark enigmatic eyes look at me from the face of our son.

Who could love a scheming wreck of a man? Only a scheming wreck of a woman: Tracy. I first met her decades ago, when I was hungry and desperate to scrape off the stink of Elm Street. This was when the Tracy Quartermaines of the world would never look twice at the likes of the Luke Spencer. A few years ago, when we both had a lot more miles of combined dirty dealings, loss, and rejection, I managed to get her drunk and con her into a marriage which, I hoped, would quickly end and she would rid herself of me via a fat divorce settlement. My con failed, and what I got out of that marriage was a woman who accepted me, warts and all. She understood the dark and dirty side, having played in the dark and dirty herself. I understood her too, and when she stood by me, willing me to live through near death, I couldn't turn away. I didn't want too. We were two wrongs who somehow made a right-so right. We realized we loved each other in spite of ourselves and each other.

I walked away from Tracy and my kids after I made the worst mistake of my life. I accidentally killed a four year old boy, raised by my son as his own. I left to set them free of me, but in the end I couldn't leave permanently and came back to reconcile with them, accepting their forgiveness when I can't forgive myself. So Tracy and I still dance around each other, as the best of friends. If it were ever to become more, we'll never know now. My eyes are closing….

"Luke? Time to wake up, Luke."

The voice belonged to my sister. "You-you should go," I murmured. "Shouldn't have to watch.."

"Shouldn't watch? I wouldn't miss this for the world." Bobbie's voice is warm and full of humor, but she is also hell in heels and gives as good as she gets. There was plenty of underlying laughter in her tone.

"Dying…"

"No, you are certainly not dying. There's nothing wrong with your heart, except of course you sometimes don't have one! You had food poisoning, which made you keel over. We treated it and you can go home."

My eyes flew open. Not dying? All that great reflection gone to waste? "I can go home?" I was already feeling stronger. I pushed myself up, and other than feeling a bit queasy, I did seem alive and kicking.

"Yes, you can go home. Here, you'll have to take a wheel chair." She helped me up, eased me into the chair and pushed me out of the room.

"Of course, you shouldn't be alone," Barbara Jean went on. There was still a devilish tone to the words. We entered the waiting room. "Aren't you lucky? So many people wanting to take care of you!"

I saw them then. There was Laura, my angel, one eyebrow raised and her lips pursed, confident in her power over me and ready to do battle. Tracy was facing her, bristling with molten anger and insecurity. Mount Tracy was about to erupt. Off to the side, the English Rose Holly was beguiling some young spud of an intern who was practically drooling into her cleavage. Behind the women, my three spawn were watching the scene unfold with a mixture of alarm and fascination.

My women turned together and descended, all talking at once.

"Luke, I was so worried. We won't miss our next chance-"

"Thank goodness you're all right. We still have time-"

"Don't you dare die on me. We aren't over yet, Luke."

Simultaneously "You're coming home with me."

The next enraged chorus "What do mean, he's coming home with you?"

Oh shit.